


in pools among the rushes

by blackkat



Series: Horoscope Drabbles [33]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fae & Fairies, M/M, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 16:52:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: The path through the mire is narrow, barely visible against the dark water and grim-green of half-drowned paths, but Haku's feet don’t waver. He picks his way through, familiar and steady, and doesn’t take his eyes off the water.





	in pools among the rushes

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Normal Horoscopes on Tumblr:
> 
> Cancer: The knights just below the surface of the mire. Wicker masks and wooden pikes waiting in ambush.

The path through the mire is narrow, barely visible against the dark water and grim-green of half-drowned paths, but Haku's feet don’t waver. He picks his way through, familiar and steady, and doesn’t take his eyes off the water.

It’s silent; there are no birds singing, no animals moving. Haku knows by now to take it as a warning in and of itself, and he keeps his steps light and soundless, taking care not to leave footprints in the marsh grass behind him. tries not to stir so much as a single stone, because even that can be a death sentence if someone is paying attention.

Not _Haku's_ death sentence, of course. He knows better than that.

Ahead of him, almost hidden by the curl of the heavy mist, there's a building, built on a tiny patch of solid ground and sagging dangerously. A boat is tied to a reedy tree, but there's no two-handed broadsword leaning against the wall of the cabin, and Haku doesn’t have to look further to know that Zabuza is elsewhere, likely scouting out the far reaches of the mire for trespassers. He hardly minds; they don’t come to this section of the marsh often, and being on his own lets him feel the silence better, catch the currents that twist through the air and carry whispers with them. Winter is closing in, creeping down the dales, and Haku is more than ready for it to settle in, blanketing the world in snow. He isn't a creature meant for mild temperatures and warm nights.

A whim and a thought turns his feet away from their temporary cabin, sends him east; there are marsh roses just dying off, and if he beats the birds to the rosehips he can likely get enough to make tea for the winter. Zabuza particularly likes rosehip tea, though he’ll never say as much, and Haku tries to keep a stock of it. With enough of the berries he might even be able to make the jelly Zabuza loves. There are—

The water ripples ever so slightly.

Haku doesn’t let his feet falter, doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t glue his eyes to the spot. Sweeps a look around hisemlf instead, wide and slow and careful, taking in each inch of the mire and trying to remember the deepest points along this path. He tested it, when they arrived, because one incautious step is a slow death by drowning, and even if the map he made is back in the cabin, he can recall the closest parts of the marsh. There, ahead of that twisted tree, the ground falls away like an underwater pit, and Zabuza had mentioned it was a place best avoided.

The water ripples there, and Haku slides his hands out of the sleeves of his robe, curling his fingers, cupping cool light in his palms as he breathes out. easy to overreact here, easy to take a wrong step, but Haku is smarter than that, better. He doesn’t fear anything in this marsh, not in any real way.

He knows the tricks used by its denizens, too.

There's another ripple, so quick he almost misses it. Then a pike is surging upwards, breaking the surface in a rush. The figure that follows it up is armored in dark leather and metal, worn by long ages in the water, and his mask is woven wicker, his hair white beneath it. He lunges, spear-tip leading, but Haku is ready. Twisting around the blade, he brings a hand up, out, flings a handful of magic right in the knight’s face and freezes sodden wicker solid. One hand on the man’s chest-plate, a foot behind his ankle, and Haku hauls him the rest of the way out of the water, tosses him down on the narrow strip of land, and drives a needle of ice right through his wrist to pin him there.

There's a startled pause, and then the knight _laughs_.

Mouth firming, Haku reaches out, grabs one of the skull-like mask’s woven horns, and drags it away. The knight beneath jerks, but Haku grips his wrist, digs his thumb into tendon and cold flesh, and says, “I claim right of victory.”

The laughter is still bright and vicious in purple eyes, and sharp teeth bare in a grin that Haku might flinch at if he hadn’t been raised by a fey lord. He was, though, and Zabuza is far more frightening than a soldier-fey sleeping in a mire. Haku doesn’t so much as blink, simply lets cold light curl across his fingertips to crackle ice across aged armor.

“I claim right of victory,” he says again, makes it a warning—he’s not about to let an attacker wriggle out of recompense.

There's a pause, careful, assessing. The fairy knight stares up at him, humor fading to be replaced with realization, and the knight groans. “Fuck,” he says, dropping his head back into the marsh grass, and he gives Haku a narrow look, displeased, lips curled down over shark teeth. “You _know_. How? You're not fey.”

Haku smiles, makes it polite, sweet, deadly. “I claim—”

“ _Fuck_ ,” the knight says, more vehement this time. Pulls a face, but opens his hand, lets the pike drop the fall into the water with a splash. “I concede,” he says. “You have right as victor.”

The ritual words make Haku sit back on his heels, satisfied. Carefully, he rises, and offers the knight a hand. “You can call me Haku,” he says, mindful of his wording. If he gives a fey his name, even one he’s beaten, there's every chance it will end poorly, and Zabuza gets cranky when he thinks Haku is being less than careful with his names. “A ward of Lord Zabuza.”

The knight freezes, halfway through reaching for Haku's hand, and his eyes go wide. “I— _Lord Zabuza_?” he repeats, and groans. “Of fucking _course_ the one idiot who wanders through the mire is his ward.”

Haku laughs, trying not to make it mean. He’s Zabuza’s first ward, a changeling Zabuza took a shine to, and he’s seen every other fey who’s learned about him react the same way. “Now that you're mine, you’ll have a chance to meet him,” he says.

It gets him another narrow look, a huff, but the knight lets Haku pull him to his feet, picks up his helmet and tucks it under one arm, pulling himself up straight. He’s tall and thin, and his white hair is tangled with waterweed, but Haku can feel the trace of the old world on him, something as dark and sharp as seawater. “I guess I am yours,” he says, and raises his hand, inspecting the ice still driven through his flesh. “You did beat me fair and square.”

Haku wouldn’t precisely call an ambush fair and square, but he won, and that’s all that matters in fey eyes. With a smile, he flicks his fingers, lets the ice slide out and twist and reform, dropping around the knight’s wrist like a bangle, or maybe a manacle.

“Do I get your name, if you're mine?” he asks, watching the knight through his lashes.

Purple eyes flicker from the band of ice to Haku, then linger. “Suigetsu,” the knight says, and it’s careful, deliberate. Decisive, almost. “Suigetsu Hōzuki.”

The feeling of his full name settling into Haku's possession makes his skin tingle, electric like the air before a storm. “Thank you,” he says, and offers Suigetsu his hand with a smile. “Come with me to pick rosehips?”

Suigetsu’s expression twists, and then he laughs. Not the half-mad sound from before, but—amused. Startled, a little, but not angry about it. “Why the hell not,” he says, grinning, and a cool hand settles into Haku's. Haku grips his fingers in return, and pulls him on through the mire.


End file.
